In November, 2007 I joined a group from Global Exchange to visit the Middle East to learn more about the Iraqi refugee crisis. I learned about the incredible suffering that these people were enduring. There were a hundred heartbreaking stories and a hundred causes that deserved (and still deserve) attention and action. There were also stories of hope and kindness.

One story that stuck with me was the story of Abdul Hakeem and his family.  We were invited to meet with a group of people who had witnessed the air strikes in Falluja. Below is an excerpt from my travel journal that day.

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I talked with Nora and Rusul on the phone today! Cole called and put them on the line. Nora said, “Hello, Ann,” and then began rattling off in Arabic. I don’t know what she said, but she sounded happy! Rusul said, “Hello, Ann! I MISS YOU, ANN!” In caps because Rusul’s voice literally sang through the phone – it hit my heart because it sounded so much like her big sister, Salee’s. I couldn’t help feeling a sadness and longing for Salee hearing Rusul’s voice. But there was definitely no sadness on Rusul’s part. Her voice shone with the pure joy and exuberance that is also her sister’s. If you’ve met Salee, you’ll know what I mean.

My conversations with the girls were, of course, quite short, because we’d both exhausted our command of each other’s language (I have literally none of theirs) within seconds. But, those brief seconds were long enough to make me even more anxious to meet these precious little ones who’ve been so damaged by what’s happened to their country.

I spoke with Abu Ali, Rusul’s father, and Afif, Nora’s father, briefly too. Of course, I know Abu Ali well from his time here with Salee. He was his usual exuberant self, saying, “I love you, my Sister. And, I miss EVERYONE there!” Afif sounded kind and courteous, a quiet man searching for the right words in English to express himself. He said that he looked forward to meeting me and that he’d see me soon.

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I wanted to help an injured war child because I could never think of my little brother being hurt in such a way. These injures don’t just hurt the child physically but emotionally also. I believe that children should be able to have choices and be able to have dreams but when they are injured in such a way their dreams are gone. I help because I want to give those children their dreams back.

In the 5th grade, I remember having a picture of Saddam Hussein on the door of my room. It was covered in pen marks, made during my moments of anger and frustration. Alongside the picture was an article on an atrocity, one of many, committed by his brutal regime. It was my way of showing the hatred I felt towards the monsters wielding power in Iraq. I did not quite understand the dynamics of Iraqi politics, let alone Middle East politics, but I knew the lives of Iraqis to be one of no political openness and no freedom of speech. A constant fear emanated from Iraqis who knew the consequences of relating their opinions of the government.

The frequent visits to my grandparent’s house in Laguna often included me spending the night, asking my grandmother to “goolee qusa haqiqia,” tell me a true story! I would always ask to hear about the country I was originally from, but never had the chance to see for myself. She would always tell me of her childhood in Iraq, how hot it would get at night and, on those particularly hot days, how she and her sisters would sleep on the roof. She told me happy stories, as well as an equal amount of disturbing ones. One that really kept me up at night was the story of a little girl who was in preschool. Saddam Hussein was visiting the school and, when he approached the little girl, she told him that her dad spat on his face whenever it appeared on TV. The following day, Saddam’s secret police were at the door of this little girl’s house; they shot her father in front of both her and her mother.

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Wow! I’m still walking on air after this morning’s phone call. Dr. John Davids, Chief of Staff at Shriners Hospital in Greenville, called today to let me know that Salee’s little sister, Rusul, has been accepted for treatment! What a dream come true. I was on pins and needles worrying that, after helping to get the care for Salee to be able to walk again, her little sister would be left sitting at home, forever maimed. But, there is now hope for Rusul, too! What a blessing!

Rusul’s right leg was horribly mangled in the same US air strike of November 2006, that took the lives of her little brother and friend, and both legs of her big sister as they were outside of their homes, playing. To imagine children, innocently at play, being hit by missiles paid for by our tax dollars, is heart-wrenching. Can we even imagine how we’d feel (and react) if another nation’s bombs dropped from the sky onto our children? If we ran outside to find them scattered on the ground, blood-soaked and broken? No, we can’t imagine it, yet we’re inflicting this horror on the families of Iraq on a daily basis. The feeling that I, as an American, am somehow responsible for the loss of Salee’s legs, the death of her brother, and the maiming of precious little Rusul brings me such sorrow.
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We first learned about No More Victims in late 2007 while watching Democracy Now! with Amy Goodman (our hero!). Amy was interviewing Cole and Salee and her father.

In 2002, we had traveled to San Francisco to march against the war, saw Market Street filled with people as far as the eye could see: nuns, businessmen, sports fans, all kinds of folks, and believed that the war surely could not begin in the face of such wide public resistance. We attended more marches, wrote to Congress, participated in organizing a demonstration right here on the border of Yosemite National Park. At that rally of about 25 El Portal/Mariposa locals, we were cheered on by virtually every car passing by. (One passenger did flip us off - kept us laughing all day!)

After all that effort, and all these years, watching friends, neighbors and relatives go to war, wondering what will happen to our own son in a few years when he is of “registration” age, it has felt as though all that’s left to do is to pray. The best thing we can do is pray. Then an opportunity comes, and prayer catalyzes action. (more…)

Cole called tonight and said that Salee and Abu Ali had made it safely home to Fallujah.  There was a welcoming party with a huge feast and a sacrificial lamb.  All was well, and they were happy.

But happiness must be a pretty relative thing in a city that’s been decimated by siege and sanction.  In a city where nobody doesn’t have somebody that they loved who’s been killed as a result of our invasion.

I want to think of Salee happy.  Her smile lit up every room into which she walked (or wheeled).  Her laugh was infectious.  Her joy was pure. (more…)

Our little girl has gone. And my heart with her. I just returned from a week in Los Angeles, Salee’s first stop on her trip home to Iraq.

Sitting in LAX waiting for my flight home, as Salee, Abu Ali and Cole fly on to New York for a three day stop before heading to the Middle East, I think of the past week. Cole’s incredible passion for the cause filled the week with presentations and schedules to meet, but also many memories.

I’ll never forget Abu Ali’s eloquence when speaking about Iraq. I’ll never forget his face when he tells of a family near him, seven members killed in one bombing and a soldier coming to the hospital and saying “Sorry”. “SORRY?” Abu Ali says. “You killed seven people and all we hear is ‘sorry’? But that’s how it always is,” he adds sadly. He talks about Iraq before the invasion, how Shia and Sunni lived together peacefully, without a thought. “Sectarian violence? There wasn’t any,” he says. “We were friends.” (more…)

Cole and I went to a lunchtime presentation today given by Congressman Bob Inglis who has monthly talks with his constituents in area restaurants. Today’s topic was “Accountability in Iraq”. Apparently, although we are the ones who invaded their country, bombed their cities, destroyed their infrastructure and are killing their people, accountability rests entirely on the shoulders of the Iraqis.

The main frustration in the room seemed to be that the new Iraqi government wasn’t getting the situation in Iraq under control. The fact that “control” might be a little difficult when your country had 160,000 armed foreign troops in tanks and airplanes firing upon its citizens, when they hadn’t had a full day’s electricity in four and a half years, clean drinking water was an expensive luxury most cannot afford, and starvation was as big a danger as imminent death from US firepower, seemed to have entirely eluded these people. The fact that a government forced upon you by the very people who had invaded your country might not actually be accepted as legitimate by victims of the invasion, also seemed to be an alien concept. (more…)

In recognition of Father’s Day, Brave New Films made a brief video about Ismaeel Hussein and his nine-year-old son, Abdul Hakeem Khalaf. You can see it here.

Abdul was disfigured when US mortar rounds struck his home during the April 2004 attack on Fallujah. Doctors at a small clinic were able to save the boy’s life, but his father, Ismaeel Hussein, could find no one to repair the damage to Abdul’s face. Such services are not available in occupied Iraq.

No More Victims, an American organization, learned about Abdul Hakeem in 2005, and helped Ismaeel bring his son to the United States for treatment last year. The boy and his father will be returning this summer for follow-up care. (more…)